


What He Remembers

by theprydonian_archivist



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Episode: s03e11 Utopia, Episode: s03e12 The Sound of Drums, Episode: s04e18 The End of Time (2), M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-22
Updated: 2011-05-22
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7198838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprydonian_archivist/pseuds/theprydonian_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't remember all of it, but he does remember the important parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What He Remembers

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Prydonian](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Prydonian). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [The Prydonian collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/theprydonian/profile).

He remembers being cold.  
It was a dark, rainy afternoon, with a thunderstorm lighting up the Ministry of Defense with intermittent flashes. It was fall, with the air chill but not freezing. But he felt so cold. So empty and freezing that it is that which lingers the most in his memory of the approach to the building. He does not remember parking the TARDIS beside a tree, or noting that the building looked a lot like the dorm at the Acadamy, a twinge momentarily breaking in his stomach.  
But he remembers being cold.

He remembers being empty.   
He could not find it in himself to care about the humans milling around him. They had turned to a dull hum of noise and faces. Caring about humans had only gotten him hurt. He hated himself for thinking it, but it was true. He was hurt when Rose left, both times. He was hurt when a planet full of humans was being slaughtered before his eyes, and later when Martha and Jack left him because of it. He was hurt when he had to ruin Donna's life just to save it.  
And he hurt then, in an empty, physical way, as the radiation slowly but surely made its way through his body.  
And so, although he doesn't remember seeing Tish Jones and wincing, or flashing his psychic paper at the security guard and wishing he didn't have to deceive everyone, although he has put from his mind the long pause before the door as he tried to talk himself out of this horrible, horrible idea, he remembers being empty.

He remembers being desperate.   
Because he was, he was desperate as he opened Harry Saxon's door and stepped inside. That was why he was there. To indulge desperation and regret.  
He looked up as the door closed, and the Doctor allowed himself to lose his self reproach and stare into the large brown eyes which were so sane and in control, at least compared to the last time they had met. The Master stood up, looking unsure what to do. He hadn't expected the Doctor this early in his plans.  
"Doctor," He began, "I can't say that I-"  
"Shh." The Doctor whispered, putting a finger to his lips. "I want to look at you."  
The Master didn't know how to respond other than to repeat it and make sure he hadn't misheard.  
"Look at me?"  
The Doctor nodded, an aching exhaustion  showing in his features. "I'm not in the right order of things." He confided softly. "The one who belongs here will show up months from now. So I can't meddle in your plots or try to stop you. I'm here because you were right and I never got to say so."  
"Right about what?" The Master asked, settling back down in the chair. So the Doctor was muddling up timelines again. Now that he was looking for it, he could feel it, that slight wrongness. Not as harsh as it would have been with a new regeneration. And this one had admitted he had no intension of sabotage.  
"The drums." The Doctor said, stepping forward to stand in front of the desk. "They were real and I didn't believe you. I'm sorry."  
The Master leaned back, gazing up at the Doctor with a mask of amusement, while in his head he was reeling. The drums. The Doctor must have heard them. He knew them.   
"Did you come all this way just to apologize?" He asked. "Because I'll let you in on a secret, I don't really care what you did or didn't believe."  
The Doctor shook his head. "No, I came to say goodbye." He said. "And claim whatever that might entail."  
The Master cocked his head to the side in curiosity. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
"I'm dying. Radiation poisoning, again. And our last meeting ended abruptly with you dying again. I just want a proper goodbye."  
"And the 'whatever that would entail'?"  
"Think about it." The Doctor said. "The version of me you're after won't remember anything we do here and now. The version of you in my future is dead. No consequences for either of us."  
"Doctor," The Master said slowly, a grin forming on his face, "Are you implying what I think you're implying?"  
"One good memory for both of us." The Doctor said, in a voice like a promise. "Just one goodbye. You're beautiful and alive and I never properly took advantage of it."  
He doesn't remember the conversations the Master had on the phone, canceling plans and leaving messages. He doesn't really remember the way the Master grabbed his wrist possessively and led him down hallways and corridors out of the building. He doesn't recall the details of the drive they took to a motel because the Master insisted that if this was to be done, it was to be done right.  
What he does remember is the way that as soon as the Master let go of his wrist he took the Master's hand to keep the contact. He remembers being desperate.

He remembers being warm.   
The Master was warm, beautifully warm, and the Doctor was amazed at how gentle he could be when he tried. There was no hurry, no anger or insanity. It was as if he had drawn up some secret document in his mind declaring that he could let go of his need to dominate and control just this once, just for this one impossible moment of peace.   
He remembers the warmth in his mouth as he made the Master gasp and shudder with pleasure. He remembers the roles shortly thereafter reversed, and the Master's mouth warm and amazing as he returned the favor with skill and enthusiasm. He remembers the heat which rolled off their bodies as they tumbled around under the covers and eventually lay side by side, breathing hard but so happy, so satisfied. He does not remember the moments which followed, the Master dressing and leaving, because he wants so badly for that never to have happened, for them to still both be together in peace and quiet. He likes to imagine it never really ended, the scene just shifted as in a movie. He doesn't remember the slow walk back to the TARDIS, less empty and less desperate but still sad at what he's lost.  
No, he doesn't remember being heartbroken, but he remembers being warm.

* * *

Longest fic yet, first completely fiction. Any critiques are encouraged. :)


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